Paradise Lost
by CanisLupusHorribilis
Summary: Ada Wong stayed on her knees for an unknown amount of time, tears spilling from her eyes and dotting her black dress with little drops of water. Ada/Leon
1. Beloved Son and Trusted Brother

Paradise Lost

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Absolutely nothing. (Meaning I don't own Resident Evil or Hollywood Undead.)

A/N: I don't write stories like this because they depress me. But this literally came to me in a dream. (Not with Leon and Ada though…) And I couldn't help myself. But…it's likely to stay a oneshot. I don't think I'll be continuing this. Maybe, only maybe, if it gets enough attention I will. But unlikely. So, let the depressing fic ensue. Obvious pairing. (Come on, I only write one.) Rating might go up if story is continued. Rated for innuendo and cursing. Title is a song by Hollywood Undead. Chosen because...well...it's a good song.

She slowly ran her finger down one length of the thick leather that made up his shoulder harness, savoring the warmth that still lingered to the material even an hour after being removed from his body. The thick shirt it rested upon brushed her hand, as if to remind her that it and not the harness had been the one to rest upon his skin. She could smell him on the clothing; a clean and somewhat soapy smell that she doubted she'd ever get enough of. It was so him. And it was so normal.

Gentle footsteps reminded her that she wasn't alone in the small house and she lifted her eyes. She let them take in every detail of his body; the ruffled jeans, the scuffed boots, the well built torso. He was pulling his fingerless gloves, made of a leather-like material, on as he stepped into the room. When he realized she was staring, a sly smirk grew upon his lips.

"I'm going to need my shirt. I'm running out of them since you steal one every time we do this," he said, his voice husky. She smirked, remembering how that voice had sounded nearly moments ago.

"Hm… Come and get it then," she purred, draping her hand through one of the leather straps that hung down off the bed the shirt rested on. She sat on the floor next to the bed, her legs folded partially beneath her. He raised his eyebrows questioningly. "I need some help with this dress. Somebody has to help me tie it, lover." This elicited a laugh from the tall man and her smile grew ever larger.

---Unknown Amount of Time Later---

He was dead. He was dead and that was, in all honesty, the worst thing in the world. But she was apparently the only one who thought so. She was the only one who, even after days of knowing about the 'accident,' was still crying. Tears, an endless stream of them, poured out of her eyes and down her cheeks.

His mother was sitting, her hands clamped tightly enough that her knuckles were a creamy white. Her face was so ashen she looked ready to keel over, deader than the zombies he once fought so bravely. Once, the elderly woman had blonde hair as bright as the sun above. He'd said that was where he got his own blond hair from. But now the woman's hair was a dull yellow with thick, grey streaks running through it. Streaks of black mascara ran down her cheeks, giving her an oddly phantom look. The black of the mascara clashed with the white of her face in a shocking mixture. But no new tears slid down her cheeks, past the black streaks, onto her dress. No, the tears had stopped.

_But not for me… Never for me…_

Even after all these days, she couldn't stop crying. Tears streamed from her emerald eyes without a break. She hadn't bothered putting on any mascara for that reason alone. She wasn't like the other women. Secretly-or not really so secretly-she believed that his mourners, the women at least, wore mascara so it _would _get messed up and then everybody would _see _their sorrow.

_I'm not painting on my sorrow. Never. Not for him. No, he deserves more. He deserves so much more._

The music blared to life and everything suddenly became real. His mother's tears started again and although she'd made sure to stay away from the crowd so nobody would notice her, she wished she could go over there and comfort her. But she didn't. She dared not move. The music continued on steadily as Marines, dressed smartly and handsomely, carried down the coffin. The empty coffin. The empty box. The empty thing.

The American flag was draped delicately over the empty oak box, a bright flash of color in a sea of blacks and grey. Even she'd dressed in a black dress though she could hear him softly whisper how he loved her in red as they lay under the blankets at night. The flag seemed to speak volumes for the man that was supposed to be in the box. Supposed to be but was instead underneath God knows how many tons of concrete and metal. Who was lost forever because his bosses were assholes. Who she couldn't even kiss goodbye. Who she couldn't tell how much she loved him.

The song slowly stopped and the service started as the Marines silently set his (_empty_) coffin down. The priest-though she didn't think he was truly religious any longer-started to talk about how God loved him and God was going to protect him and God this and God that and blah, blah, blah. She wanted to scream that God didn't deserve him. That she wanted him _back _and that whatever God could offer she could offer more! Because she did love him and she did protect him and she did this and she did that and she wanted him back oh, how she wanted him back.

A choked sob escaped her throat and she clamped her hand over her mouth, trying to silent her cries. She forced herself to ignore the priest (oh how she wanted to kill him because God didn't deserve him and she did, oh she did) and looked at the coffin. She couldn't comprehend him being dead. It just wasn't possible. Not possible. He lived. She died. That's how it was supposed to be. Not like this.

Finally, the Marines opened fire, 21 shots fired into the sky for the man who was supposed to be in the coffin. She watched his mother's face, wondering if the woman with the mascara streaked face knew that he wasn't in the coffin. Did she? Had the government told her? Or had they lied?

And then, as suddenly as it had began, the funeral was over. The crowd, more like an audience than a group of mourners, started to shuffle away, their tears dried long ago. His family lowered their heads, almost as if they instantly accepted the idea of him being dead. Of him being forever gone. But she couldn't, oh no she couldn't. So, she waited. She watched as they filled in the hole that his (_empty_) coffin lay in. She watched as they patted the dirt down with their shovels. She watched as they left. She watched as everybody disappeared. And then she moved.

She stepped forth from the shadows and walked over to the, now abandoned, grave and knelt before it. The headstone was a simple slap of granite with gently, curving letters that spoke of his importance. The flag was gone. The green grass was the only color besides grey and black.

Her fingers, once having brushed over the thick leather of his shoulder harness or the soft silkiness of his ash blond hair, stroked the gently groves in the stone that was his name. She wanted to whisper it aloud but she feared that if she said something she'd burst into tears. Instead, she stayed on her knees, her silk dress ruined by the dirt turned mud underneath her, and stroked the letters.

**Here Lies Leon Scott Kennedy, Beloved Son and Trusted Brother. **

_Oh Leon… I love you so much… Why couldn't you have… Why couldn't I have told you before you left for the mission?_

Ada Wong stayed on her knees for an unknown amount of time, tears spilling from her eyes and dotting her black dress with little drops of water.


	2. Fading Tears and Broken Heart

Paradise Lost

A/N: Decided to continue this. Also, a quick warning. There will be huge spoilers for Resident Evil 5 in this chapter. You were warned.

"I thought you said you didn't give Wesker the Plagas sample," he said softly, leaning against the wall that rested between the kitchen and the living room. She lifted her green eyes to meet his, startled that his voice didn't sound accusatory at all. In fact, it sounded like he believed she had done as she'd said, that she hadn't given Wesker the Plagas sample.

"I didn't give it to him," she assured, running her fingers over the soft material of his couch. He cocked his head curiously and she offered him a timid, yes timid, smile. "It's called brute force, handsome. Wesker has the strength to take on ten men without even trying. He attacked the Agency. He took the sample." She watched as he lowered his head, looking down at his boots. He had a habit of doing that when the conversation turned towards the Agency.

"Why did you even give it to them?" he finally asked, not bothering to lift his gaze. She stood from the couch and walked over to him. She leaned against him, her head resting on his chest. Almost as if by instinct, he lifted his arms and wrapped them around her waist and everything seemed to fade but them.

"They would've hunted me down and killed me if I hadn't…" she explained gently. She rested her hands on his shoulders, her fingernails catching the seams of the thick material that made up his shirt. She heard him sigh, an odd sound when one's ear was pressed up against the chest, and he was obviously relaxing.

"The information that you're feeding the government is helping. Know that much. And…well…good news. Albert Wesker is officially dead. Chris Redfield and Sheva Alomar saw to that." She felt every muscle in her body tense up at those last two sentences and pulled away from his embrace. A brief look of displeasure flickered across his face but it faded as soon as it had appeared.

"Tell me you're not joking," she whispered. How those words, Albert Wesker is officially dead, made her heart leap in pure, unadulterated joy. How she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time that the madman was officially dead. The blond man before her offered her a large smile.

"I'm not joking. Wesker fell into a lake of lava within the volcano near the Kijuju area. He managed to stay alive but Redfield and Alomar used a set of RPGs to kill him. The local government sent in a team to investigate. If he survived the lava and the explosion, there's no killing him. But he wasn't there. There was no sign of him. Uroboros went with him," he further explained, the smile never leaving his lips. "You're free. Wesker can't bother you ever again."

And all she could do was smile.

---Unknown Amount of Time Later---

Even with a broken heart weighing her down, she found the box at midnight, three nights after his funeral. It was sitting on the top self of their shared closet, which was still filled with his clothes as well as hers, and was simply gathering dust. Over the years they'd been living together, they'd put a multitude of items within the cardboard confines. Then, he'd carefully stashed the box upon the self, without her knowing at the time, and had left it there to gather dust. It was to be a memento. Not something she needed to see again.

With careful movements, Ada pulled the slightly heavy box from the self and quickly set it on the bed-which was thankfully close to the closet. As soon as the cardboard edges, covered in hand-drawn old symbols they'd seen throughout their years, she felt tears building in her eyes. They still hadn't stopped coming. And she highly doubted they ever would.

Her fingers gently pried the flaps of the box open and revealed strained blue fabric. His uniform, she recognized instantly, which covered everything else in the box. He'd kept the old RPD uniform much like she'd kept her old dress, both articles of clothing soaked through with blood and less than pleasant things even after being washed several times. She carefully tugged the top section of the uniform away, letting the fabric dangle out of the box. Once it was out of the way, she could clearly see two weapons, which rested upon the crimson cloth that made up her dress.

One was a silver Desert Eagle, its grip a lovely tan-brown color. It's barely had been extended an extra couple inches, making its barrel ten inches in total length. The gun was empty but it once held deadly rounds. The other weapon was a Browning HP, which was a dull black-grey in color. It was a good weapon, not nearly as strong as the Desert Eagle but very reliable nonetheless. Besides, what good was strength when the common enemy at the time had been zombies, which were easily downed by a single shot to the brain.

Ada removed the two weapons and set them on the bed next to her. Then, she reached into the box and pulled the dress out. She dared not unfold it like she had the uniform. The uniform was at least him, the good man that had done everything he could to protect her. The dress belonged to a cold-hearted murderer, someone Ada had banished long ago.

"And for that, I'm proud," a familiar voice stated. Ada's body tensed and her throat seemed to dry up immediately. The tears that still streamed down her face stopped coming but she dared not turn towards that voice. No, it was quite impossible for her to hear that amazing voice (a voice that had breathed sweet nothings into her ear night after night).

"You can't be here," she whispered, her heart pounding viciously in her chest. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream. She really wanted to hit something. But she dared not turn around. She dared not prove to herself that nothing, that nobody, was there. (Because that would ruin the secret hope?) And when his voice didn't fill her ears again, the tears spilled down her cheeks but her heart calmed.

She turned her attention to the box. Now that the dress was gone, simpler objects were visible. She could see the bear keychain that was once attached to jet ski keys sitting next to a butterfly emblem he'd bought for her only a month after they met up again. There was the ribbon from her dress that she wore in Spain and there was the combat knife that had saved his life so many times over his career (from Raccoon to Spain at least, it wasn't so helpful recently).

And there it was. At the very bottom of the box, resting atop the pants of the RPD uniform. A slender silver chain that held two flat pieces of metal. Upon that metal was writing, like his name and all that good stuff. Dog tags. _His_ dog tags. He'd placed them in the box, stating that he no longer felt it was necessary to wear those tags. He was government, not military. That little session with the Marines had only lasted 15 months. And when she'd reminded him that all government agents wore dog tags, he'd smiled and said-

"Doesn't matter. I'm no soldier and only soldiers deserve to have their identities with them at all times," he said from behind her again. Ada finally forced herself to turn around, looking the room over. The empty room. He wasn't there. He wasn't standing with his hands in his pockets and a wide smile on his lips that just oozed playful cockiness.

"I'm going crazy," she whispered, her tears slowly fading. But oh how her heart begged him to appear, even if it was just her mind making him up. She longed to feel his protective arms again, she longed to feel his lips on hers, she longed to feel him again. The tears were fading but her heart wasn't mending. And she knew it never would.


	3. Talking Ghosts and Silent Stone

Paradise Lost

A/N: More RE5 spoilers.

She stood like a guardian near the closed gate that kept her separated from the front lawn of the house, her green eyes watching every tiny movement the agent made. She could see his discomfort clearly. He didn't like talking to the B.S.A.A. Especially not when Redfield was there.

He and Redfield could get along just fine. They'd gotten drinks together, talked together, played basketball together. But when it came down to it, they were bitter enemies when their jobs were added into the mix. Secret Service didn't mix well with the B.S.A.A. And she knew that Chris had many a time offered the agent a position in the B.S.A.A. But every time he turned his attention back to the Secret Service. Was it fear of change? He'd never had that problem before. Or was it fear of losing her? The B.S.A.A. didn't exactly like spies or assassins, let alone a person who was both.

"Chris, we've gotten no further leads on whether or not Jill is or isn't alive. We haven't even found any traces of Wesker. If they're alive…we're not going to find them without them assisting us," he suddenly said, breaking her from her thoughts. She lifted her pale eyes to look at the two men.

He stood possibly an inch taller than Chris and he was the complete opposite of the dark haired man. His hair was light, his eyes pale. His temper was always cool and he never lost his cool. Chris…Chris was a ticking time bomb of emotions, waiting for the chance to explode in some poor fool's face.

"I can't give up on her," Chris replied, his head low and his voice soft. She almost thought he was about to cry. She knew that Chris and Jill Valentine had been very close. And Jill sacrificing herself had torn the man. "Even though everybody wants me to…expects me to…I can't."

She saw the look on his face and knew he was thinking back to their own past. They weren't that unlike Chris and Jill in a way, although she'd sacrificed herself against a seven and a half feet tall monster whereas Jill tackled Albert Wesker out of a window. She sighed and felt the old sorrow building in her. Those memories of her sacrifice, even years upon years later, still made her heart hurt.

"I'm not asking you to, Chris. I know what it's like, okay? But be careful. Going after Wesker, if he's still alive, is no task one man should carry out alone. Make sure you bring a friend the next time you fight him," the agent gently said. And with one somber good-bye, he walked over to join her at the gate. She quickly opened it and he stepped through. "That was harder than I expected," he mumbled to her.

With a glance over his shoulder to make sure Chris was going to his house, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him tenderly on the lips. "But you handled it perfectly," she purred when she broke the kiss. He simply gave her a, rather sad, smile.

---Unknown Amount of Time Later---

"There was that one time…where the religious group tried to use us as sacrifices… I remember how you used a lighter to catch a pillar on fire as you walked past and made them believe that some divine being had stepped up, telling them to stop the execution. They didn't want to let me go so you just…you just… Give me a second…. You just said that the gods weren't going to be pleased… They ended up releasing me, those morons, before they realized that they only believed in one god. We spent so many nights laughing about that one."

Ada wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, her breath hitching in her throat. A month. It had been a month since his death. A month since she'd last seen him. And that was tearing her apart slowly. So, she'd taken to coming to the graveyard and sitting near the headstone, talking about things they'd spent their nights discussing. And even though the empty grave (with its _empty _coffin) couldn't speak back, she'd decided it was better than nothing.

Ever since she'd heard that voice of his when she'd grabbed his dog tags from the box, she'd found herself hoping that she'd hear it again. She decided that she'd rather be crazy than without him completely. At least her (crazy) brain did a good representation of his voice. Though she wouldn't mind seeing him, even if that would only confirm that she was indeed losing her mind.

"At least they weren't like the Illuminados. Saddler's followers wouldn't have been so easily tricked. Or rather, I should say, Saddler wouldn't be so easily tricked. Of course, Saddler's dead so it doesn't really matter… But you know that. Or…I should hope you do. You always did have a terrible…"

Her voice failed her and she let her face drop into her hands. It was getting difficult to speak, as if talking about their past was only confirming the dark truth that she had indeed lost him forever, buried underneath tons of rubble. She longed to be able to speak without her throat clogging up with tears or her voice failing her but she doubted that would ever happen again.

"They won't tell me which building you went to. They won't and it's driving me nuts. Because I'd like to visit the actual you instead of some wooden box. What fun is a box if there's nothing in it? …I miss you… I miss you so much… Do you know…do you know how many times I've contemplated killing myself? It's stupid, I know. Whatever afterlife I get, it's not going to be with you. But I can't take this anymore… I just… I remember…that me saying I once had thoughts of suicide… That was the only time you yelled at me. I remember. It was frightening. But I think that was when I knew I… I knew we needed to be together. Because nobody cared if the stupid murderer was dead. Except you. You cared…"

She did indeed remember that day. It had been only four months after they'd regained contact. She'd stated the simple thoughts on accident, remarking that there had been many times throughout her lifetime that she'd considered suicide an easy escape. He'd snarled at her, his voice rising to levels she'd never heard from him, and (_how could you think about killing yourself?! You're not evil, you're human! We all make mistakes but you're no murderer dammit!_) afterwards he'd apologized. She'd silenced him with a kiss and had curled up against his chest. They'd spent the night asleep on the couch, pressed close enough together that one would think they were a single person if they walked in.

"I shouldn't think about…I won't kill myself. If only for you. Because I know you'd hate that. It wouldn't be that bad for me. Wherever I go, Heaven or Hell or someplace else, can't be nearly as bad as this place. …But I won't… For you. Because…because I can't hurt you like that…even if you're gone."

"Gone?" that voice asked. She cringed bitterly but dared not raise her head from her hands. In the dark that her hands created, Ada could see his face, his warm smile and his pale eyes that seemed to glitter with laughter. But she dared not lift her head. "I suppose that's one way to say dead."

She hadn't heard the voice since that night with the old mementos. And although it only seemed to push her closer towards admitting her insanity, she absolutely loved hearing it. It brought back her memories and it fit the picture her mind had formed perfectly.

"Ada…won't you be strong for me?" the voice asked. She jerked her head up, little dots dancing in her line of sight because of the sudden transition from black to dull grey light, caused by the murky clouds above.

"Strong? I would be strong if you weren't dead. I would be perfectly fine, happy and enjoying life if you were here at my side and not under some building. I can't be strong. Not anymore. The one thing I had keeping me strong throughout the last decade or so of my life is gone and…and…"

The tears threatened again but she was getting sick and tired of them. Crying seemed to wash away the grief for a brief period of time. But then it just came back tenfold, tearing at her with utmost violence. She didn't want to have that moment of brief relief just to have that painful grief come back worse than ever.

Her watch (he'd bought her that watch after she told him about her broken one from Raccoon City, what a loving man) beeped at her and she stood. Time to go home. Time to return to that empty hellhole. Time for the tears to come back, even worse than ever. Time for her to be unable to stop those tears.

"I'll come back tomorrow," she promised, grazing the tips of her fingers over the top of the tombstone. "I'll try and bring something, since your grave looks so plain… And…and I think….I'm going to try and…and maybe sell our place… Please don't hate me… I can't live there without you. I'll…I'll get somewhere closer, okay? Maybe somewhere really close so I can walk over here. Okay?"

The tombstone didn't answer so, with a heavy heart, she turned and walked out of the graveyard.


	4. Cruel Gods and Leather Jackets

Paradise Lost

A/N: There's mention of sex in this chapter. Cover your eyes little ones.

The sunlight spilled into the open window, instantly illuminating the room with a heavenly glow. Of course, with her eyes closed, she wasn't able to see that. No, instead the light barely penetrated her tightly shut eyes, telling her that it was officially morning and that it was time to get up. But she didn't want to get up. She was quite comfortable.

"You know I have to go," he suddenly mumbled, his voice gentle in the morning. She wondered, not for the first time, how he always knew she was awake even when she didn't move or show signs of being awake. "…You're not going to let me up, are you?"

"Hm…I'm sleeping handsome. Can't hear you," she replied distantly, making sure her voice sounded as tired as one's should when they first woke from a deep sleep. Of course, that hardly fooled him. He rolled onto his side and gently kissed her shoulder. He always knew her weaknesses, some of which were weaknesses all human body's possessed. The temptation of flesh against flesh was something not many people could resist.

"Right, sleeping," he mumbled, kissing her neck. She bit back a soft whimper when he pulled away and leaned over her. "Now get up." With a semi-defeated sigh, she rolled onto her back and looked up at him, pulling on the 'innocent woman' face that many men had fallen to over her lifetime.

"Are you bossing me around?" she questioned sadly, giving him a very sorrowful look. Unfortunately for her and luckily for him, he knew her games and shook his head at her. Realizing her trick was getting her nowhere, she reached up and clasped two handfuls of his hair and pulled him down to her, their lips meeting in a much wanted kiss. When they pulled away, she gently purred, "Because I can be the boss right back."

"Oh? You see me shaking?" he teased and she sighed. "I don't want to know what you're about to do to me, do I?" She grinned at him and shoved her weight forward, forcing him to roll onto his back. When possible, she quickly moved over top of him and straddled his waist. She looked down at him, her hands resting on his chest and a triumphant smile painted upon her face, and he shook his head back up at him. "One day they're going to ask why I always come in late and I'm going to have to explain that I have this crazy girl in my house who likes to boss me around."

"Make sure you add that I boss you around in bed," she laughed, leaning down to kiss him. When they broke the kiss, she started to kiss along his jaw line, and his hands found her waist.

"Hell no," he laughed though she knew he liked it. Otherwise he would make his discomfort or displeasure quite evident. He always did. But, since he didn't, she knew he liked it. "I don't need them asking about my sex life, thank you."

"You're the one who made it public," she remarked as she kissed his neck, where his pulse throbbed steadily. Her hands were still resting on his chest, denied access to his skin by the thin T-shirt he was wearing just like his hands were denied access to her skin by her own shirt. They'd reached a dilemma but it was one that could be easily surpassed.

She was about to order him to take off his shirt when a loud beep entered the room. With a cringe, she looked over at the table near his side of the bed. He did too. They both looked at the small cell phone like object that was ordering him to get up from bed and go to work, the object that had quite often taken him from her side in the middle of the night. For what seemed like the longest time, they sat and stared at the object, both silently begging it to become silent. And when it didn't, he looked back up at the ceiling with a look of distaste on his face.

He always made it obvious when he didn't like something.

---

"Do you believe in God, my little granddaughter?" Ada's grandmother had asked her that what seemed like an eternity ago. She couldn't even remember what had sparked the conversation up anyway. All she remembered was the fact that the little spark, that harmless question, had soon blazed into a terrible and raging fire.

"No," she'd replied almost immediately. "Any God these days is a truly cruel being who doesn't deserve to exist." She was eleven at the time and yet her grasp of the cruelties of humanity were quite good. She'd been extremely intelligent as a child. Even her parents, who'd detested her otherwise, had been proud of her expansive knowledge.

"Don't you see that humans are causing the cruelty? That He can't do anything to stop it?" the old woman had questioned. Ada had never been particularly found of her grandmother, or anyone else in her family for that matter, but the conversation had made the small girl absolutely seethe in fury at the old woman.

"Every god does that. The Egyptian ones, the Greek ones, the Chinese and the Japanese ones, even the gods that don't take an active part in their religion leave humans to a terrible fate. Why? They created us, if the legends are true. Therefore, they should be the ones to help us. We are merely beings of his planet; we don't truly comprehend our mistakes. The gods are supposed to be there to help us. But, instead, they abandon us," she'd replied rather darkly. Her grandmother had stared at her in pure shock and the young girl had stood from her seat on the couch, mumbling, "I'm leaving." Before she could however, her grandmother had clamped a hand on her wrist.

"God will see that you pay for such words," the old woman had snarled. "He'll take something from you. He'll make you pay." The young girl, oh-so foolish at the time, had simply laughed and said that such a comment just confirmed her theory that God was a cruel monster.

Had her grandmother been right? Just a month ago, she'd been a woman with everything she could ever want. She had a peaceful little home, she'd had money, and she'd had a man who she'd loved for a huge period of time. And yet, he was gone. She was willing to give up her home and her money in a heartbeat just to see him again.

She wanted to be able to cuddle against his chest and watch some stupid movie without really watching it, instead listening to his steady heartbeat. She wanted to be able to spar with him again, where they'd tackle each other endlessly until they stopped and kissed each other fervently, again succumbing to the biggest human weakness. But she couldn't. Ever again.

She stood from her seat on the bed and walked over to the closet. She'd heard that most widows (not a widow, a woman with a shattered heart) got rid of their husbands clothes, since the clothing held so many memories. She hadn't. She still had every article of clothing he'd ever put in the closet, intermixed with her own. Sure, she'd once loved order and tidiness but she'd loved the intimacy between the clothing, as foolish as that sounded. She could pull on a shirt and smell him on it without even touching him. And she liked that.

Her eyes searched the closet and found what she was looking for. A black leather jacket. She'd gotten it for him right after they started living together. She'd stated that she was rather sick and tired of him losing jackets, since she liked to steal them away for herself, and she'd gotten him an expensive leather jacket. He never lost it. Obviously.

She grabbed the article of clothing and tugged it free from its hanger. The thick leather hadn't lost its smell. But there, within the thick aroma of fresh leather, was the warm smell of him. The clean, soapy smell she'd gotten so used to over the years. The smell that still haunted the sheets of their bed and the cushions of their couch. She blinked rapidly to stop the tears from streaming down her face and carefully placed the jacket back in its designated spot.

She missed him. But she wasn't going to wear the jacket until she absolutely needed it, like when she'd stolen it from him. She'd only ever done that during the winter, when it was cold and her arms were covered in goose bumps. It'd become almost ritualistic for her, ever since he'd noticed the shiver coursing through her body and he'd gently placed the jacket around her shoulders. Instantly, her cold skin had soaked up the comforting warmth and since then, she'd taken the jacket from him when she was cold. And though he complained sometimes, he always complained with a loving smile on his face.

"What are you going to do for money?" the voice asked curiously. She wasn't used to hearing it but she wasn't reacting like she used to. Whether she was insane or something was messing with her, she didn't care. It wasn't him. He couldn't hold her, touch her, love her. It wasn't him.

"Why?" she asked darkly, walking over to the bathroom. She scooped up the brush and stood before the mirror, gently running the brush through her short hair. She needed to cut it soon. "It shouldn't matter to you, ghost boy."

"That's harsh," he said. The doorbell rang and Ada's eyes widened. In the mirror, she saw a woman with short black hair and eyes permanently filled with sorrow. She saw pale skin and close to gaunt features (need to eat more, haven't eaten at all today, maybe not yesterday either). Somebody knocked on the door and Ada sighed.

"Give me a second," she called. She started to turn away from the mirror, placing the brush on the counter, when she noticed something near the shower. The bathroom was an oddly designed one, with the shower/bathtub facing the mirror. Near the shower head was a man. A man she knew all too well.

The Eurasian woman snapped around and looked at the shower. Nothing was there. Just the plain blue curtain and the white walls. Nothing. No person. She took a step backwards, a wave of nausea overcoming her suddenly, and blinked back tears. She really was going crazy.

The doorbell ringing again grabbed her attention and she stumbled out of the bathroom. Once free, she walked over to the door, trying to calm her shaking body. Luckily, the shaking had calmed greatly by the time she reached out and opened the door. She opened it to reveal a woman she'd seen once before. This woman's face had been covered in streaks of mascara at the funeral, her hair was as lifeless now as it had been then.

Leon Kennedy's mother looked as depressed (sad, miserable, gloomy, unhappy, dejected) as Ada did but she looked like she hadn't eaten in a month.


	5. Crying Mother and Different Man

Paradise Lost

A/N: I just noticed that in the last chapter I didn't have the part with the "Unknown Amount of Time Later." I apologize. It should be there.

He ducked a well aimed hell kick that had been aimed for his head, dropping into a crouch quite easily. The woman, upon having both of her feet on the ground, turned her eyes towards the ceiling as he stood up. They stood there, one looking up and the other looking at the person before him, and didn't move for what seemed like an eternity. Old tactics. Spook the enemy.

"You haven't tried to hit me once since we started fighting," she finally said, lowering her eyes to look at him. He blinked at her innocently and smiled. "Afraid you're going to break me if you actually land a punch? Don't worry. You won't hit me."

He rolled his eyes at her and she simply grinned at him. She sure loved to push his buttons. And she knew exactly how to do it without getting him pissed. No, instead she pushed the perfect buttons to upset his ego and let his pride step into the game. But, today, he wasn't going to fall for such. He wasn't that stupid, though he knew many people would disagree.

"Oh, somebody's learned to control their pride," she purred playfully. Before he could really react, with a quick step forward she struck at him again, bringing her leg up in a wide arc. He barely managed to pull away from her, taking a step or two backwards to avoid getting hit. "Come on, you're no fun when you don't hit back."

She knew what he was doing. He was trying to aggravate her. When she was aggravated, she got sloppy. And he was simply waiting to take advantage of her sloppiness. Smart man. But dumb if he thought she wouldn't notice.

With a cocky smile as he stood back up, he shook his head and only confirmed what he was trying to do to her. She sighed and backed off a couple steps. His attempts were good. She was indeed getting aggravated. She suddenly bolted towards him again, spinning around in 180 degrees before coming near him, and performed a kick similar to one he'd tried to use against a giant man in a Spanish village. The blond was caught off guard by the rather brutal attack and barely managed to catch her foot before it smashed into his chest. He took a step back but didn't release her leg.

"You should know I wouldn't fall for that," he teased, staring at her. She was finding it difficult to keep her balance but dared not say anything. "I used it against Mendez. It didn't work. It's not going to work for me either."

"Oh?" she asked, moving her arm to regain balance. The position was becoming quite awkward and annoying. "Because you did last week."

He shook his head and suddenly yanked on her leg, forcing her to fall directly into his arms. With both of her feet on the ground again, she breathed in the sweet air that filled the house. When she was fighting, she made sure to keep her breathing slow and calm. It was difficult but it helped keep her body calm enough to use for hours on end, even after getting hurt. But after a fight was over, she let herself breathe heavily.

"That was a stupid mistake," he said simply. She wanted to reply that, in essence, so was hers but she kept her mouth shut. "Besides. You caught me off guard that time. You never said we could use outside weapons."

"A table is not an outside weapon."

"Is too."

"No."

He grumbled yes under his breath but didn't say anything any further. She wanted to laugh. He was so childish sometimes. But that just masked the true man. It masked the agent who was probably stronger and better than anybody but herself. He'd taken on monster after monster after monster. There wasn't much he couldn't fight easily. But to keep people around him calm he acted young, cocky, and foolish.

She reached up suddenly and rested her hands on his chest, right below his collar bones. He looked down at her curiously and she pushed him away from her. He stumbled back, nearly smacking into the wall, and she walked forwards.

"Make love, not war?" she purred to him when she stopped before him with her hands resting on his chest again, making him grin like a young boy.

---Unknown Amount of Time Later---

Out of all the things Ada had planned to do after his death, meeting his mother was not one of those. She'd never planned on even speaking to any of his friends or family, just like when he was alive. Although she loved him, she refused to speak to other people that he knew. For selfish reasons, sure. But he'd agreed that she could stay a secret as long as she wanted. And that had touched her.

"Can I help you?" she asked gently, hoping to feign ignorance. But she knew her voice gave away that something was wrong. Of course, that something was the fact that she'd seen her dead lover in a mirror and she was fully convinced she was indeed losing her mind.

"…I saw you at my son's funeral. You knew him?" the woman asked, her voice raspy probably from nights of crying. She doubted that his mother had been spending quite as much time crying as she had. Ada hadn't seen the woman at the gravestone since the funeral and the vast majority of her days were spent at the graveyard (hoping).

An awkward silence filled the air and she felt her rage building up. The woman had sounded accusatory, like Ada hadn't deserved to be there the day he was buried. Something inside Ada snarled that this woman had no right to act like that towards the very person Leon had spent his time with, the woman who'd held him as he'd mumbled how he'd almost slipped into insanity after her 'death.' Ada felt that she'd done so much more for Leon than this woman ever could. But she also knew that wasn't technically true. She wasn't certain what type of relationship Leon had had with his mother but this woman was still his mother. She'd been there since Leon was a baby, whereas Ada herself had only come along in 1998.

"Yes," she finally replied, unable to keep all of her anger at this woman's tone from her voice. Leon's mother seemed to look the Eurasian woman up and down, as if she was examining her. Ada felt her jaw clench slightly but dared not say anything.

"…I've been going around…asking people about my son… I…I." She trailed off, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. All bitter emotions seemed to flee Ada's body. She was still upset at the tone the woman had taken but the fact that his mother was so obviously distressed over him made Ada feel a little…pity? "I didn't truly know him… I hardly knew him…"

Ada remembered nights where they lay in bed or on the couch, talking about anything that came to their minds. But there were two major things that never came up in their conversations. One was how they truly felt for each other. They'd never told each other how they felt. The other was their families. She'd never told him of her family life and he'd never asked. And although she'd always wanted to ask him about his family life, he'd never mentioned it so she never asked just to respect him and somewhat return the favor. And from the way his mother was speaking, she had a funny feeling there was a good reason Leon never spoke of them.

Ada stepped out of the doorway and motioned for the woman to come in. She gave Ada a thankful look and walked into the building. Ada shut the door and turned to see the woman nearly collapse onto the couch and instantly bury her face into her hands. Soft sobs racked her body, her shoulders jerking with every inhale of air. The Eurasian woman stood next to the front door, unable to move. How could somebody share her grief (she was the only one who truly loved everything about him) for the man's death?

With a shake of her head, Ada dismissed that question. Again, she was being selfish. She was acting like Leon was hers and only hers. Which, when he was with her, that was true. But he wasn't with her now. No, he was now his mother's just as much as he was hers.

"I'm sorry," his mother choked out, wiping at her eyes. Ada felt that pity building up again. When she cried for him, did people feel pity for her? Or did they wonder why the Asian looking woman was crying over the man? "Leon and I haven't spoken in a decade and… We had such a terrible falling out and…and…his death has torn me to pieces…"

A decade? Since Raccoon City? Technically, it was officially over a decade since Raccoon. So, he possibly stopped talking to her a little while after Raccoon. But why would he stop speaking to his mother. He'd told Ada, while they were trying to sleep, that after Raccoon City he'd thought he was going to lose his mind because of the nightmares of her 'death' (sort of like her losing her mind thanks to his death?). Perhaps that had caused him to lose his connection with outside people, including his mother.

"…Why so long?" Ada finally asked, her anger towards the woman earlier completely gone. They were two women who'd lost one they loved. They shouldn't treat each other so cruelly, even if jealousy played a part in their interaction. After all, there was always going to be that 'who loved him more' thing going between them.

The woman lifted her eyes and peered at Ada carefully. The Eurasian woman felt a slight self-consciousness come about her. She didn't like it when people basically glared at her. Sure, she wouldn't break under pressure but she didn't like the way people looked at her nonetheless.

"We…we got into an argument about a year after Raccoon City," she finally explained, dropping her gaze. Ada remained by the door, not wanting to intrude upon the woman's space. "You see… When Leon was a teenager, his father and I got a divorce. Of course, like all kids, he blamed himself for the divorce. But his siblings also blamed him." This was new.

"Leon started to do bad in school and I always told him that if he didn't do better, he'd never become anything. I…I was so cruel to him." Ada had to agree. "Then… He went to college, got amazing grades in the academy, and was sent to Raccoon City. I watched my little boy grow up on cruel words and vicious anger." Ada didn't like this story. "After Raccoon City, I knew something was wrong with him. My boy was always so happy, always smiling and warm, but after Raccoon, it was like all the warmth had been sucked out of him. I guessed the death and destruction got to him." If only she knew.

"Then…I made such a stupid decision… Oh God, the hate in his eyes…" Ada really didn't want to hear this story anymore. "He'd come over to tell me and his sister that he was joining the government… I hated that. I can't even explain how much I hated that. He was going away again. Last time he went away…he came back a different man." Ada knew this story was going to have a very bitter turn. "So…I…I… Oh God, I asked why he would join the government when he obviously couldn't make it as a cop. I basically called him a failure." Ada had to force herself to not walk over there and slap the older woman.

"His sister reacted more than he did. He just looked at me with…with such burning hatred that I could feel it…and then he…just walked out. He didn't even look at us. The next day I called his father and asked him to go check on Leon. When his father called me back…he told me that Leon was gone…" Ada really wanted to slap her.

Leon's mother looked up and stared at her but Ada found herself unable to speak. She didn't want this woman in her home, where she and Leon had spent such great times, where she and Leon had mumbled their darkest secrets to one another. Ada couldn't form a proper sentence and instead lowered her head and looked at the carpet. She wanted Leon there, now more than ever. She would even settle with the voice or the image of him in the mirror.

"You hate me too?" the woman finally asked. Ada replied in a very Leon-like way; she shrugged. "You should hate me. Everybody does." They returned to the awkward silence from earlier and the woman returned her face to her hands, the tears returning. But no pity came to Ada. The Eurasian woman was too…upset to pity. But she could imagine that if the roles were switched, if Leon was in her place speaking to her mother, he would comfort her.

"Leon didn't hate you," she finally lied. His mother lifted her head and stared at her with bloodshot eyes. "He spoke highly of you, actually," she continued, her lie gaining no strength. His mother seemed to buy it though because her eyes instantly filled with relief and the tears seemed to stop.

_Now, if only they'll stop for me._

"How did you know my son?" the woman finally asked, looking at Ada curiously. Ada felt slight fury in her because of the easy way his mother seemed to forget his sorrow. And she decided to test his mother. How much would she pity the one who caused her son's massive transformation.

"I'm the one that made your son into a different man."


	6. Their Story and Evil Mirror

Paradise Lost

He was lying face down on the floor when she walked into the living room. To be blunt, she was rather startled. She immediately thought the worst that he'd been hurt or something, until the sensible side of her noticed that his back was rising and falling as he breathed. She guessed something had happened at work, again, and he was suffering the consequences from it.

"You alright, handsome?" she purred, walking over to him. He might've mumbled something in response but his arms, which were folded to form a pillow for his head, muffled the words. She sighed and looked away. So loathed his job.

After years of making very thought out and intricate plans, she acted spontaneously. She quickly stepped closer to him and crouched down, touching his shoulder so he knew she was there and didn't freak out. He mumbled something again and she sighed, knowing he realized that she couldn't hear a word he said. With one swift movement, she moved even closer to him and straddled his back. He tensed up but almost immediately relaxed.

"Why so tense?" she asked, her hands resting on his shoulder blades. When was the last time she'd given him a massage? A year ago perhaps? He'd never mentioned it afterwards, being the gentleman who never asked her to do anything unless she offered it first.

He finally decided to speak loud enough to let her hear him, stating, "There's another biohazard incident occurring in Asia. And Africa's status has yet to be determined." She frowned as she instinctively kneaded his muscles with her hands.

"I thought you were exempt from biohazard incidents," she mumbled. One thing she was always worried about was a repeat of the Spanish incident. He'd been infected there and had even gone so far as to attack her. She didn't want to see him, the gentle man, like that ever again. So, when the government had said he'd no longer be in biohazard incidents, she'd smiled in joy. That smile was gone now.

"So did I," he calmly replied. "Guess I'm not so special after all. But…don't worry. For now, I'm completely safe. The B.S.A.A. was sent in. Redfield and Alomar specifically."

"They know about Las Plagas?" she asked, her right hand sliding up to rub his neck. "I know that you wrote a report on the matter but…" She remembered watching him as he wrote that report. It was extremely detailed, explaining every strength and weakness of all the creatures, from el Gigante to los novistadors. She had even thrown in her own addition here and there, like their abhorrence of fire or how they could smell blood easier than most animals, no matter what they were.

"They should. The B.S.A.A. took the report so… But let's hope it's not Las Plagas… Wait…why did you…?" She almost heard distrust and that hurt. But in a second, he stated, "Wesker's there, isn't he?"

"I remember him talking about Tricell in Africa a long time ago. I didn't even pay attention, I suppose that's why he didn't care I was in the room. But if he's there for Tricell…that's not a good thing," she explained, recalling one of Wesker's many 'slip-ups' when she'd been supposedly working for him.

She brought her right hand back to its original place, massaging his shoulders and the middle section of his back. He was finally relaxing but she heard the stress in his voice as he said, "It's too late to warn the B.S.A.A. too… Dammit…"

"Sorry," she whispered, suddenly feeling an odd feeling. Guilt, perhaps? She'd only ever felt guilt when it came to him, not anybody else. But somehow he'd made her feel guilt for not talking about Wesker before the mission in Africa.

"It's not your fault," he said with a calm sense of assurance in his voice. She looked down at his back, the black shirt he was wearing a stark contrast to her pale hands that rested in the middle of the fabric. He moved and she got off his back, letting him lift himself up onto his knees. He pulled her into his arms, letting her rest her head against his chest and he kissed the top of her head. "Never your fault."

---Unknown Amount of Time Later---

Ada couldn't believe so many emotions could cross over one's face at once. His mother immediately looked furious, horrified, elated, sorrowful, and even a little relieved. She remained very calm, making herself ignore the fury in the woman's eyes. She hardly had any right to be angry. After what Ada had just been told.

"…How?" she finally asked. The Eurasian woman stared at the older woman, seeing a tired look come to her eyes. She recognized that. It was acceptance or even giving up. She just wanted a simple answer. But…

That was a story they'd told no one. They'd only ever spoken of it while laying in bed, where their emotions were accepted and not a sign of weakness. She'd been able to curl up to him and admit how horrified she'd felt when she'd awoken to find herself alone and how, for a split second, she'd felt a dark rage boiling in her chest at the man who'd left her there.

"I promised him I'd never tell the story. Just trust me on this…it has to do with Raccoon City. It's a story of sadness and other, darker, emotions. But it's a story that does not need to meet the ears of people who weren't there," she said finally. She wouldn't tell anybody their story. It was _their _story and _their _story alone.

"Oh…" the older woman mumbled. They fell into a dead silence, their eyes looking everywhere but each other. Finally, the woman lifted her eyes and examined Ada. The raven haired woman lifted her own eyes, feeling sudden unease under that steady gaze. "Are you alright? You look…pale…and gaunt…"

"I'm fine," Ada lied. And almost like her body wanted her to suffer as much as possible, her head throbbed and her stomach ached simultaneously. She knew she needed to eat. She needed to actually take care of herself. Her hair was too long, her nails uneven, her clothes rumpled. He'd always playfully mumbled that he loved it when she looked disheveled but that didn't change the fact that he'd loved it when she was elegantly dressed too. And he'd seen her elegantly dressed (and undressed) before anything else.

"You look…" The woman trailed off, almost like she was trying to make friendly conversation with the woman she'd been giving bitter looks to earlier. Ada doubted it was love that this woman was showing her. In fact, she guessed it was the fact that Ada knew Leon all too well whereas his mother didn't. She guessed that would be rather annoying. "Sick?"

"I haven't been sleeping much," Ada tried. And that wasn't completely untrue. But that had been true for the vast majority of her life since Raccoon City. In fact, sleeping was easier with Leon in the bed with her but even then the nightmares liked to stick their cold fingers into her mind as she slept.

"But you look like you've got a cold or something," the woman said. Ada shrugged finally. So what if she did? She didn't honestly care. She could handle a cold. In fact, a cold was the least of her concern. "Okay… Well, I must be going now… Thank you for…talking to me," she said, standing. Ada nodded weakly and the woman walked past her and out the door. She didn't even say goodbye and was gone as quickly as she'd come.

Ada made sure the front door was locked before heading to the bathroom, planning on taking a shower. She made sure she didn't look in the mirror when she entered the small room.


	7. The Sorrow and The Box

Paradise Lost

A/N: I dislike the beginning of this chapter. Apparently, my sickness is affecting my writing. Sorry. Also, more (what could be considered) RE5 spoilers.

"You look weird like this," she said as she gently tugged on his tie. He looked down at her with a slight smile on his face, his eyes almost asking her what she meant. "I'm just not used to seeing you in a tie and suit, okay?" she laughed, running her hands over the thick black fabric that made up the suit jacket.

"I'm glad you feel that way," he teased, reaching up and resting his hands casually on her waist. She leaned closer to him, carelessly wrapping her arms around his neck and savored the way his hands felt, even through her shirt.

"It's just not normal," she purred. They rested their foreheads together, eyes closed, and let their surroundings disappear. When their eyes were closed, the rest of the world didn't exist. He didn't have to go to work and she didn't have to hide. He wasn't really wearing a suit and she wasn't complaining about it. They were the only things that existed.

A sharp beeping filled the room and they pulled apart. As soon as they opened their eyes, the reality of the world existed. They weren't technically alone. No, not alone. Not while that stupid PDA was there, always beckoning him to work. He cast her an apologetic look and walked over to it.

"Why do you have to go in? This isn't your jurisdiction," she said softly, walking over to him. He pressed something on the phone, opening up what seemed to be a text message or something like that. "You aren't supposed to protect Ashley anymore… Or her father."

"She won't go on stage unless she has me there," he finally said. She frowned deeply, remembering what he'd said the blonde woman had asked when they'd been escaping the destroyed island. The idea of that little brat trying to…well…it bothered her to say the least. "Besides, I won't be gone for much more than an hour."

"That's a long time," she lied. Truth be told, she was used to him disappearing for longer than that. After all, the first night they'd spent together, he was the one who disappeared first, leaving her asleep and alone in bed. The Secret Service was no-nonsense. She guessed that gave him a pretty good reason to disappear and not explain why.

"Really?" he laughed, turning to face her. She looked up at him, a sad smile flickering across her lips. The humor seemed to be sucked out of the room, however, just as fast as it had appeared. "Look…I'm sorry… But…"

"I know. You have to go," she said, offering him a soft smile. She pulled him down and kissed him. "Come home as fast as you can, okay?" He might've nodded but the thing in his hand beeped angrily again and he rolled his eyes. With one last quick kiss, he headed off for his truck, leaving her to watch as he went to 'work.' As the truck vanished into the night, she silently scolded herself. She was getting attached in the way most women did. She loved him but she'd always expected to give him more freedom than other women gave their lovers.

But…how could she do that when every time she turned around, some woman was looking him over like he was a piece of meat? Besides…the nightmares were coming back, even when he shared her bed. Every night she watched him die. And every night she woke up in a cold panic. And every night he was right there, hugging her and mumbling sweet nothings. And every night tears threatened to spill from her eyes. But since he was there, alive and well, she'd never really cried. But that didn't change the fact that during the day, she was overly protective of him, overly needy.

"I need a hobby," she mumbled as she watched the outside world. It wasn't like she expected him to just up and go one day. She always had him. She just wanted him more than she got. All those years of lonely, empty nights was finally catching up to her, making her want more of what she was getting. "I really, really need a hobby."

---Unknown Amount of Time Later---

"According to B.S.A.A. officials and the United States government, bioterrorism incidents seem to be on a slight decline since Tricell was discovered to be a major manufacturer of bioweapons. According to officials in Africa, the Kijuju region was used as a testing ground for Tricell."

She glanced at the TV, her pale eyes taking in every tiny detail the large screen showed. A man, blond and blue eyed, stood before a large building with the Tricell symbol on it. He looked rather uncomfortable but he dared not cower away from the building. After all, reporters had to look stronger than they really were.

With one swift motion, she scooped up the remote and turned the TV off. She didn't want to hear about bioweapons or Tricell or Umbrella or Wesker for as long as she lived. She didn't want to even think about them, although her nightmares were filled with them. Well, them and Leon of course.

It had been three days since his mother had come to visit and the conversation they'd had was all too fresh in her memory. Ada knew that, if she wanted to, she could write down everything that was said between them. Of course, after the story his mother had told her, she didn't want to write anything down.

"It wasn't that bad," the voice suddenly said. She tensed up and looked at the blank TV. The screen reflected the room around her, including her, and she could sorta see somebody else. She wasn't certain if it was a shadow or not. It probably was.

"Yes it was," she replied. She wanted to laugh and cry. She was speaking to a dead man. Her mind was finally losing its grip on reality. She wasn't sure what the worst part about the whole situation was. Was it the fact that she wasn't really eating? Or the fact that she felt nauseated 24/7? The lack of sleep? The hallucinations? Or the sorrow?

_The sorrow… It's the sorrow…_

She could handle pain. She could handle insanity. She couldn't handle the sorrow. It was tearing her down. It got worse as every day passed, like her brain was realizing what had happened. He was gone but she didn't seem to want to accept that. Even though it had been a month, she still somewhat expected him to walk through the front door. She still expected to wake up in his arms, wake from this dark and very cruel dream. She still expected him to mumble how much he loved her in the middle of the night. And that was tearing her to pieces.

She stood from the couch and walked into the bedroom, her thoughts hardly steady and calm. She could remember all the times they'd walked to the bedroom, entangled in each other's arms. She could almost smell him as she walked through the building. She could almost feel his warmth.

The bedroom was…messy to say the least. The bed's sheets were thrown about, having been kicked constantly by her restless nights. She'd begun to toss her clothes about, always struggling over which shirt to wear and always asking if he'd like to see her like that. Of course, when she reminded herself that he was indeed gone she'd throw the shirt, crumpled and rolled into a ball, at the wall and grab another one. The only section of the room that was clean was the closet, his clothes all kept nice and neat.

She plopped onto the bed, her head throbbing slightly as she lay there. She stretched her arms up, her right hand brushing over his pillow. She'd never bothered with that side of the bed, having left it alone, much like the closet. Well, not so much the blankets and sheets but the pillow at least. The pillowcase was soft against her skin, reminding her of nights when she'd make him move over so she could share his pillow. After all, the grass was always greener on the other side of the fence (the pillow was always softer on the other side of the bed?).

Ada felt like, for the first time since he'd left for that accursed mission, using the pillow. She lifted herself from the bed and moved up to the pillow, laying her head down on it and stretching her body out on the bed. The cool, silk-like fabric almost immediately soothed her throbbing head. She could remember those nights, his hand silently stroking her bare waist as her arm draped over his chest. God, why did…

For the first time since the Spanish incident, instincts built into her through years of deadly training grabbed her thoughts. Something was wrong. Not like "you'll die if you don't react" wrong. But the pillow seemed…wrong. She gently slid her hand underneath the pillow and her fingertips brushed against something. Something that made her heart hurt and her eyes burn with tears.

It was a small, velvet box. And there were only so many reasons why'd it be under the one thing he'd claimed as his own and only shared on certain occasions. And none of those reasons made the tears stop.


	8. Kind Librarian and Sneaky Shadow

Paradise Lost

A/N: Sorry the chapter's so short. I have to go back to school today and writing time's been cut down.

She planted her hands against his side and pushed with all of her might, growling, "Move over or I'll kick you off the bed." He looked over at her, his pale eyes still visible in the darkness of the room. She knew he wanted to laugh. She could just see it all over his face.

"You know, you could just…ask me," he said, finally moving over. She instantly filled up the opened space, her head resting on his pillow now. Almost like instinct, their arms wrapped around each other, one of his finding its way around her waist and pulling her even closer while one of hers draped across his chest.

"What fun would that be?" she asked, moving her hand slightly and making him roll onto his side. Sometimes she questioned how long they'd really been together. Had it only been a couple of years? Or a lifetime? Most couples didn't even have their way of communication. They didn't even have to speak to each other and yet they always knew what the other wanted. It was sort of creepy at times.

"It'd be plenty of fun for me. I'd actually hear you ask something instead of order something," he replied, bringing her somehow even closer to him. His arms were wrapped tightly around her, almost as if he was afraid she'd get up and leave. Perhaps that was something he still somewhat feared, back from when that's how she was. Though…she'd never been the one to leave in the middle of the night. That was him.

"You like when I order you around," she playfully remarked, tracing circles on his chest. He had to get up extremely early to go to work and had chosen not to bother getting undressed. She supposed that was what happened when early meant two hours from now, at 11:00 p.m.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But sometimes you're just too bossy." She laughed and reached down, pulling the blankets up to her chin. She knew that the only thing he could truly see, as she tucked her face under the blankets and close to his chest, was her raven colored hair. "Wow… You're like a turtle."

"That was mean," she laughed, bringing her hands completely away from his body. He was right though. She liked being in a tiny ball when she slept. She guessed that was what happened when one had a childhood like hers. "You could've compared me to any animal but you compared me to a turtle."

"Hey, turtles are cool," he argued. His breathing was slowing down. He was getting tired, obviously. Luckily, he could sleep for an hour and wake up. He was better than she was when it came to that.

"I disagree," she replied. Though she usually tucked her legs up close to her body, the idea that he wasn't going to be there in a couple hours made her want to be as close to him as possible and she didn't bother to bring her legs up closer to her body.

"We'll agree to disagree," he offered, his right hand's fingers unconsciously tracing small, senseless shapes on her back. The thin cloth of her T-shirt didn't truly protect her from the way his fingers felt against her skin.

"I don't want to," she said, her voice taking on a tired tone. She remembered nights of staying up until two or three in the morning, a rifle propped in her hands casually and her sharp eyes flickering back and forth. She would always be in a tall building or a tower of some kind, maybe even a tree, where the coldest air could hit her in the face and keep her completely awake.

He might've replied but the reply was lost in the exhaustion that had captured them both. The last thing she said to him, however, was a soft thank you. She'd never liked staying up late, anyway.

---Unknown Amount of Time Later---

"When were you going to ask me?" she questioned the silent stone while she messed with the small black box in her hand. He'd never let her mess with his pillow, always stating (with a playful smile on his face) that it was one of the few things that remained his territory after she'd moved in. She'd never messed with it. And when she'd slept on it, he'd probably always made sure to not let her sleep on the actual box itself. "Why didn't you ask me?"

The stone, like always, offered no answers. The cold, lifeless object stood like a small guardian over the grave, offering slight protection to the man who was supposed to be under the ground. However, talking to the stone made her feel more sane than attempting to talk to the hallucination or even the voice.

Speaking of which. She'd spent a vast majority of her day in the library, the little box in her pocket, trying to find something about grieving wives/girlfriends seeing things. Sure enough, she'd found several books that described a phenomena much like her own. According to the books, when a loved one dies, the mind might start to show images or play voices to keep itself sane. Otherwise, the sudden lack of this loved one might cause a mental breakdown. Ada supposed that could explain that, while she felt crazy, she wasn't truly crazy.

The library made her think of something else. "…You'd never believe me but…the handicapped librarian started hitting on me today," she told the stone (or was she talking to the voice in hopes that he'd respond?). "He's a nice guy. Paralyzed from the waist down because of a bus accident. But…he's not you. As nice and gallant as he acts…he wouldn't take a bullet for me. Not like you. You did."

She lowered her gaze back to the box. She hadn't opened it. Maybe it was because she felt that peeking into the box was the official way of declaring Leon truly dead. Maybe it was because she felt that, with the box remaining closed, she had a chance of waking up one morning and finding herself in his arms again. Or maybe she was just afraid. Afraid of finding out that he had indeed been prepared to ask her to marry him. And that scared her. Because she'd lost him. Lost him before she'd even gotten the chance to tell him how much she loved him.

"Leon," she whispered. "If you're somehow still alive…please come back." Who was she talking to? She knew he was dead. She knew that pipe dreams weren't healthy, not for her. And yet, here she was, asking him to come back to life and live happily ever after with her. "I'm an idiot."

She stood and touched the stone. The cold object was nothing like Leon. They should've gotten something better for him. Of course, they hadn't. It didn't seem to matter how loyal the man had been. They didn't care.

She walked back towards her car, ignoring the fact that somebody was watching her. She'd noticed the person as soon as she'd entered the graveyard but since they'd never tried to pull anything off that seemed threatening to her, she didn't really care. And as they watched her walk back to her car, she knew that whoever it was spotted the little black box. And somehow that worried her more than the fact that she was being watched.


	9. Car Accident and Mentioned Once

Paradise Lost

A/N: A character's in this chapter who, I know, the greater part of my readers don't like. Don't worry friends. She won't be in it for more than a couple chapters. Like…two chapters at max.

His skin radiated abnormal heat which made her question how he was so calm and relaxed. He was obviously reaching dangerous heats but he simply laid still, his eyes closed, while she rested her cool hands on his forehead. Her hands, luckily still cool even after spending the better portion of the last half hour on his overheated head, were the only cold objects he let her bring near him. Cold, wet towels and ice packs were forbidden. He didn't hate cold. He just wasn't found of cold objects on him.

"If I don't make it," he suddenly said, sounding rather tired. "Take my place in the Secret Service, please. Somebody needs to protect Ashley. And hey, she might even like you. You both have a thing about dressing up."

Although a joke about him dieing would've made her heart ache any other time, the humor in his voice eliminated any ache that might've occurred. He was joking. Besides, he knew that she couldn't stand little Ashley Graham, the drama queen of them all. She was a decent girl, if not somewhat useless, in Spain but upon reaching America she instantly became a typical annoying young woman.

"Right. Because I could spend a day with her without trying to kill her," she replied sarcastically, sliding her right hand down to his neck. She'd forced him to take medication earlier, though she couldn't remember which brand. His fever hadn't gone down so she'd made him lay down on the bed, in between her legs, with his head resting under her chin and his back pressed to her chest and stomach. He was only slightly propped up since she wanted to make sure he at least tried to get some sleep.

"I think you could. If you tried hard enough that is," he replied. He sounded like he was finally drifting off as the medicine started to kick in. Her hand which had found its way to his neck soaked up the heat radiating from his skin. It was even worse, she realized, under the clothing. But she also knew that there was always a chance of the chills striking up and causing him to shiver as if cold while his body temperature remained abnormal if he took of his shirt and jeans. Clothes, as much as she didn't want them too for the sight was always a nice one, were going to have to stay on.

"_If _is the major word in that sentence, handsome. I'd never try to get along with her, I'm afraid," she purred, resting her cheek against the top of his head. He laughed slightly but didn't reply. She knew he was trying to make himself sleep as the medicine tried to do its job. But insomnia, something he was very used to, was probably fighting the medication.

So, she decided to do something she'd never done. She loved music. She'd always used music as a way of escape, unlike how most people used TV or videogames or other things of that sort. She used music. She could lose herself in a good song, no matter what genre, for the duration of the song. He'd, on many occasions, teased her that he thought she was freaking out during these periods of time when in reality, she was extremely aware of her surroundings.

She decided to hum. For the first time since she was a toddler, she hummed. The soothing sounds first made him tense up, as he'd never heard her hum or sing or do anything with her voice other than speak, but his shoulders seemed to relax quickly after that and she felt him lean back slightly. His hair tickled her throat but that didn't stop her from humming. She couldn't even honestly recognize the tune.

It was obviously a slow song, not one that a rock or metal fan would happily listen to. No, it sounded more like something that one would listen to while trying to get to sleep. Which was exactly the purpose she was using it for.

"Where'd this song come from?" he asked suddenly, his voice sounding extremely distant, even more so than earlier. Instead of breaking the tune, she shrugged her shoulders. As he, somehow, relaxed even more, she let her own eyes shut.

Sometimes, it seemed the best medicine was a little music.

---Unknown Amount of Time Later---

"You seem really interested in psychology," the blond librarian said as he typed in some commands at the computer. He was speaking of two psychology books and an old novel, Leon's favorite, sitting before him. She'd decided that it was time for her to find something to do. She was set for life when it came to money. And while she waited for an opportunity to sell her home (traitor), she needed something to do during the daytime. Music didn't last long enough. Videogames didn't interest her. TV got repetitive and boring. Books were always there.

"Not really. I'm looking something up, actually," she stated, taking the three as he handed them over. He smiled at her, something that probably made several women swoon, but the Eurasian woman simply offered him a smile back before walking out of the library. He was a nice guy. But he was not (nobody ever will be) Leon.

_Now what? Do I go home? Back to the graveyard with my stalker? Or do I just…drive?_

The idea of driving suddenly made a picture spring into her head, a picture of a nasty car accident. Her lovely car on its roof, crumpled and ruined. Car accidents were very common. Nobody would know she'd simply jerked the wheel ever so slightly and the car had lost control. Nobody would ever know.

Except…she would. Somehow. It didn't matter if she was dead or alive. Somehow, she would know. And that would haunt her. His blatant hatred towards the idea of suicide combined with her own distaste of such an idea made her turn her face away from it, no matter how tempting it seemed. And boy did it seem tempting.

As she walked back to her car, she vaguely noticed how the days seemed to be blending together. While she could tell how long it had been since his funeral, since she'd learned of his death, she couldn't really tell which day was which. Her memories seemed to run together. And some bitter part of her asked if that too was caused by her distressed brain. Ada highly doubted that.

Something near her seemed to move in the shadows of the building and she instantly felt those old instincts flexing again, trying to use their old strength over her to control the way the situation was going to occur. But she dared not let those old instincts kick in. She dared not. Whatever it was…she would wait to confront it until she was somewhere where a certain chunk of metal that could 'spit' pieces of lead was more…accepted.

The shadow didn't seem to agree because it suddenly moved out of the shadows and stood before her. Had she let her instincts take over, Ada knew she would've done everything it took to kill the shadow. But her instincts weren't in control. So, she didn't really react to the shadow. Until it said:

"You were at Leon's grave."

Her eyes snapped up, emerald eyes meeting cobalt ones. She recognized this shadow, a woman who'd survived an incident much like the one she and Leon had stood side-by-side during. Honestly, Ada had been expecting a confrontation between herself and one of Leon's many female followers much sooner. The woman, however, was obviously not pleased about her rather accepting attitude towards her.

"Yes, I was," she replied coolly, lifting her arms to her chest and hugging the books. She felt very young all of a sudden, even though she was in her thirties. She didn't really think about age, though, for she'd never based people off of their age for any reason. She'd met a young girl, a long time ago, who was extremely intelligent and yet people treated her like she was a fool because of her age.

The woman broke her from her memories by asking, "Why?"

Ada lifted her eyes, suddenly remembering the woman's name. Angela Miller. Leon had mentioned her oh, maybe once when he'd told her of all the outbreaks he'd lived through and who'd he'd lived through them with. Otherwise, he'd never said a word about her. From what she recalled, Miller had taken a liking to the blond agent.

The cold side of the Eurasian woman suddenly decided to step forward, not bothering to listen to the sensible side of the woman. With a cold, and rather belittling voice, she stated, "I'm his wife and I believe I have every right to visit his grave."


	10. Other Woman and Closest Pharmacy

Paradise Lost

A/N: So, my cold is getting worse and I can't stay home from school so my writing, both school and otherwise, is feeling the effects. I can't stand this chapter. Hopefully you guys will find it better than I have.

The chicken and sauce were both turning a blackened, burnt color as heat boiled any juices inside them to a steam. Thick clouds of grey turning a darker shade of grey billowed out of the pan and the few pieces of chicken that a dog wouldn't mind picking at but no human would ever touch unless completely necessary.

She stared at the mess on the stove and felt a sigh of defeat rising in her throat. She forced it back down, however, for she never admitted defeat not even to the man who shared her bed. Well, okay, that wasn't true. He was an exception. But this meal wasn't. No, she decided that if she couldn't make a good meal she'd simply settle for throwing out the burnt corpses of the once healthy chicken and order some Chinese. He loved Chinese, after all.

Without any true intent, she poked at the chicken covered in a once creamy white sauce with the wooden spatula that had, for months, sat unused. That was, until she found herself growing increasingly bored around the house. Upon realizing that reading and watching TV wasn't going to take up all of her time forever, she decided to start trying to cook. Which wasn't so bad. When it was the simple stuff. Now, chicken and pasta with Alfredo sauce had always looked easy so she decided to give it a go. She now cursed those who made it look easy. She also now cursed her attempt to cook.

He was better at it, surprisingly, so she didn't quite understand why she wanted to better her culinary skills. Well, that wasn't completely true either. She'd changed from what she'd once been, sure. But her old attitude still remained. She still loved to be the best at everything, no matter what it was. So, when he'd proved to be better at cooking one thing, she knew she'd have to better herself as well, at cooking anything. Of course, this had only become a true plan set in her brain once she'd run out of interesting things to watch or read.

"You're going to burn this place to the ground," he suddenly said, nearly making her jump out of her skin. She'd been too busy in her thoughts, and poking at the food, to even realize he'd arrived home from work. His clothes reeked of gunpowder and somehow the stale smell managed to overpower the smell of the burning meal.

"That wasn't very nice," she said, keeping her back to him but putting a hurt tone to her voice. In a second, two strong arms wrapped around her midsection and a familiar set of lips press to her neck. She bit back a gasp, though it wasn't one of shock, and leaned her head back slightly.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled against her throat, his hands each resting on one side of her waist as he pulled his arms away. "I didn't mean it like that. I would've already started a fire that no firefighter could stop, after all," he mumbled. As he spoke, his hands slid down to rest on her hips.

She closed her eyes and let her weight be supported by his steady body and arms. The food seemed to instantly be forgotten, still smoking and popping and sizzling on the stove before her. Of course, they could always order some Chinese food.

---Unknown Amount of Time Later---

The look on the other woman's face was enough to make Ada want to smirk cruelly but she made herself remain neutral. After all, the only thing that was going to prove if she was or was not his wife was her left hand, which was hidden under her right bicep, holding the books close to her chest. And she knew that all it took was one simple slip and her hand was visible and Miller exploded.

"His…his wife?" she whispered, suddenly looking past her. Ada guessed she wouldn't be able to look at another woman who claimed to be his wife either. However, Miller was obviously about to ask her questions so Ada started to walk away.

"Yes, his wife. And if you don't mind, I need to get home," she said briskly, her pace matching her tone of voice. Miller started to walk behind her, her voice pouring from her mouth in a senseless torrent of words. "I can't stand here and talk to you, I'm sorry," Ada said over her shoulder. "I need to get home."

"He never mentioned me?"

Ada wondered if the woman even realized what she'd just asked. Would Leon mention another woman to his wife? No. No man would be foolish enough to talk about another woman, especially not one he survived a deadly viral outbreak with, since the outbreaks tended to make their survivors incredibly close.

"He wouldn't be a very smart man if he did," she said softly. Something about her was being weak. First with his mother and now with some woman who seemed to think of him more than he thought of her. She supposed that was what happened when all she ever heard at night for quite a long time was sweet little loving sentences and when all she did was return those loving lines. Of course, the sudden discovery of the ring and the hallucinations she kept having were probably not helping.

"True," Miller replied, her voice almost tear chocked. She didn't say anything more so Ada decided it was time for her to actually leave.

Ada kept walking and got into her car, her eyes flickering up to the rearview mirror. As she watched Miller walk away, her head hung low with sorrow, Ada noticed that she felt…out of it all of a sudden. A slight queasiness started to build in her and she felt like her body wasn't working for her. With hands that didn't seem like they were connected to the rest of her body, she dropped the books onto the passenger seat. Her right hand instantly found its way into her pocket and gave the box a loving squeeze, as if to prove it was still there.

The queasiness didn't seem like it wanted to go away any time soon, so she rested her forehead against the cool steering wheel and closed her eyes. The leather covering on the steering wheel, having been protected during the day from the sun by the massive buildings which surrounded her, instantly seemed to cool her suddenly feverish head. She felt sick, extremely sick. She never got sick. Her immune system was extremely strong and she'd spent many nights with Leon while he was getting over a head cold, kissing and nuzzling him without ever even getting a sniffle.

"This isn't normal," the voice suddenly said. The muscles in her shoulders bunched up immediately and she made sure her eyes stayed closed. If she could only see him in objects that reflected images, she was in a car which had several mirrors and a shiny, reflective coat of paint. "Perhaps you should see a doctor."

"Oh?" she asked, her voice oddly rough even though only moments earlier it had been its typical purr. "And what would I tell them? 'I'm Ada Wong here to get a checkup?' And when they ask me for my ID should I give them one of my many false one or my real one with the wrong picture on it?"

He'd always been her voice of reason, even though she was levelheaded and steady on her own. Leon had been the one to tell her off about suicide, Leon had been the one to tease her because she was too competitive (and annihilated her competitive side almost completely), Leon had done this and that and now here his 'ghost' was trying to help her and she was shoving the ideas down. That wasn't like her, even if it wasn't the real man offering her the advice.

"Hormonal much?" the voice teased. That seemed to strike a cord within her thousands of memories. She was sick. And emotional. Of course, after what she'd just gone through, she doubted that the emotions were too out of place. But the sickness, which was nothing like the infamous 'broken heart disease,' made no sense whatsoever. Especially since she never got sick.

With a shake of her head, Ada shoved the key into the ignition and turned it. As the car growled to life, she made herself remember where the closest pharmacy was.


	11. Cruel Fate and Being Afraid

Paradise Lost

A/N: I'm sorry the chapters are so short. I'm hitting some problems when it comes to writing, since my teachers decided to give me homework all at once. I'm trying to make them longer.

The sun was starting to settle, its final rays painting gold and orange bands across the darkening sky. The stars were starting to peek out, little dots of light shyly making their way into the sky as the sun let its steady gaze over the world turn away. A white, pale object appeared in the sky, replacing the gold giant. The Earth was colored a milky white as the moon took its place in the sky. Two particular figures were painted a silvery white, their bodies pressed closely together and their faces turned towards the sky.

"Isn't the sunset lovely?" she purred playfully. He squeezed her to his side playfully and she smiled. She was almost shocked at how often she smiled these days. It was rather odd for her, since she'd once been quite stoic and frigid towards everyone.

"The sunset's over. Let's stick away from the clichés, shall we?" he asked, rolled onto his side to look her in the eyes. She smiled and kissed him lightly on the lips. As she started to pull away, he pulled her closer to him and kissed her again. Her hands grabbed his thick shirt but in a matter of seconds, the kiss was done and the passion was dieing down.

"I'm sorry, I can't do that," she whispered to him, reaching up and brushing some of the strands of his ash blond hair from his face. He raised one blond eyebrow up curiously, asking her a silent question. "Well, I like clichés. Like the whole, 'your eyes are beautiful pools of moonlight' cliché. That one's my favorite." He responded to that by laughing and she couldn't help but join in. "Don't laugh!" she said, out of breath while her laughter continued.

"I'm sorry," he chuckled. "I can't help myself. You sounded so serious when you were saying that. It was ridiculous." She buried her face into his shirt, her entire body shaking with laughter. His laughs seemed to be slowing down slightly and she realized that although he was a joker she'd never really heard him laugh. Sure, a chuckle hear and there but never a full blown laugh. Not like what she'd just heard. Weird.

"Now you're just being mean," she whimpered into his shirt, making her voice take on a hurt tone. The laughter finally stopped in both of them and he squeezed her playfully. "I don't think I want to be near you anymore. Get away from me you cruel person."

She shoved him away playfully and he rolled onto his back. Once she was free from his arms, she stood up and looked down at him. Her raven colored hair shielded her face from his view and shielded the playful smile that now graced her naturally ruby colored lips.

"I'm cruel?" he asked, his voice sad. He looked up at her with a puppy's look of longing and she had to look away lest her heart make her fall back into his arms. "You're the one who stood up and decided to leave all of a sudden."

"I'm still around," she promised. She didn't bother to look back at him. He knew that one of the few weapons he could actually use against her was his very emotional eyes. Those pale blue orbs could make her knees turn to butter in a matter of seconds and she wasn't about to let that happen.

"I think you'll be sticking around even longer than you previously thought," he said and to her shock, reached up and grabbed her right hand. With one swift tug, he unbalanced her and brought her down to her knees. In a second, he was sitting up and using one hand to hold onto her while his other arm wrapped around her. Their lips met in another kiss.

When they separated, she licked her lips and smiled at him. "Yeah, I think I'll be sticking around for longer than I thought too."

---Unknown Amount of Time Later---

Cowardice managed to find its way into her heart and she'd changed her mind at the last second, opting to go home instead of the pharmacy. She hated that about herself. She could face monsters and countless soldiers but the second something personal, something that affected her thinking process as easily as it effected her body, she cringed and turned away.

She sat on her couch, legs tucked up to her chest, and looked at the black TV. She wanted to throw something, break something, hurt something and make herself feel better but she also didn't really want to move or have to get up. Her mind and her body were arguing, which didn't make things easy whatsoever. Her mind knew why she was sick. Her body rejected such an idea. Fate couldn't be that cruel. First the ring and then…

"Fate was always that cruel before," she whispered to herself, tears building in her eyes. That was true. Fate was always extremely cruel to her. Her nightmares were filled with his death, even to the day he actually died. Was that not just as cruel as what she was now going through? The only difference was one affected her mainly emotionally while another affected her in both an emotional and physical way.

Tears suddenly spilled down her cheeks and dotted her arms with a slight wetness. How many times had she sat just like this with him at her side, his thumbs every now and then rubbing over her skin and taking the little droplets of water away? How many times had he assured her that he was there for her, no matter what she thought otherwise?

She'd always been so negative towards life, always thinking that she was going to wake up one morning and he wasn't going to be there. And when he found that out…well, she noticed that after that point he'd never left for work before she woke up.

Ada closed her eyes and thought about the visitors she'd had recently. First his mother. Then that woman. It seemed that Fate was trying to shove them all together. But only one of the two had shown her any kindness in any way. And although she knew that Leon hadn't had the greatest relationship with his mother, he would've wanted them to talk at least.

Or would he have? After the things his mother had told her, she doubted Leon would speak to his mother. Ada knew she wouldn't have if the roles had been changed. But he wasn't nearly as vindictive as she was. Of course he wasn't. He wasn't coldhearted.

But he'd never spoken of his mother. She knew that when one truly loved somebody, they spoke about them even if done so accidentally. He'd never spoken of his family, something she'd taken as a sign that he didn't exactly have the greatest memories of his childhood or teen years, much like Ada herself. And upon finding out the truth about their relationship, Ada guessed he'd never really planned on speaking of his mother. Or speaking to her.

"But I need to…" she whispered to herself. She was getting lonely and speaking aloud was simply comforting. She didn't expect, or even want, anybody to respond. "Because I'm lonely…" That wasn't the whole truth. She could almost feel his hand on her shoulder, his ever comforting presence there at her side, assuring her that admitting the truth was only going to help. "Because…I'm afraid…."


	12. Old PDA and Happy Invite

Paradise Lost

A/N: Do not mimic the stunts portrayed in this chapter. Motorcycles can be dangerous and you need to have the proper knowledge to drive them. Remember, though it may seem fun to drive at extreme speeds on a motorcycle without knowing how to control it, it stops being fun when you go flying and fit the concrete at high velocity speeds and kill yourself.

The motorcycle's low growl blocked all other noises from reaching her ears as it headed down the street. The world slipped by in bright flashes of light and the area around the quick vehicle seemed to be separated from the rest of the world. The wind licked at the driver's face and she knew he regretted not wearing his helmet. He'd refused to wear it though, since she didn't have one.

Out of all of the vehicles she'd excepted him to own, a Harley-Davidson motorcycle was not one of those. She didn't see him as the type of person who would own a two-wheeled vehicle. However, it hadn't truly startled her when she'd shown it to her because he'd asked her to go for a ride, not a drive like he usually would when they went through D.C.'s streets in his old muscle car.

Her head rested in between his shoulders blades, feeling the rumble from the heavy vehicle under them through his back. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, her fingers gripping his belt tightly. She was certain he had complete control over the vehicle but they were moving at dangerous speeds for a vehicle enclosed in metal with four wheels, let alone a vehicle without any protective covering and only two wheels.

However, the motorcycle seemed to give her some sort of closeness with him that nothing else did. Because the motorcycle, with its thundering growls and its smooth movement down the street, separated them from the rest of the world and seemed to shield them from any troubles that wanted to come at them. Besides, it wasn't like she could wrap her arms around him in a car and get away with it if the cops saw it.

As the motorcycle rounded a gentle corner and she realized they were reentering Washington D.C. He slowed the motorcycle down to city appropriate speeds and she lifted her head from his shoulder blades. Her hands released their death grip on his belt and slid up to his waist. His muscles relaxed surprisingly under her hands.

"It's nice out," she said softly, uncertain if he heard her under the snarl of the motorcycle. But his head moved up and down slightly, his hair being jerked at by the vicious winds. Her own hair was flying chaotically into her face and around her head. She knew it was going to take forever to comb it out.

"That's why I thought we should take this thing out tonight. It's the perfect night for a ride instead of the car, you know?" She mumbled out a quick agreement and lowered her head back to his shoulder blades. She wanted to go to sleep but wasn't certain if she could actually stay on the motorcycle if she fell asleep. "We're almost home."

"But this is nice," she whispered, her voice taking on an almost dreamy tone. He laughed gently, the sounds reverberating through his body. She could hear it through his back and she noticed the bass tones to it. It was a rather interesting sound, really.

"Yeah it is but…I'm about to fall asleep and you don't want that, now do you?" he asked playfully. She grinned and wondered how he'd react if she said that she didn't really mind that idea. At least they'd still be together. But the idea of him dieing suddenly made her cringe and almost sick to her stomach so she sat up again.

"Then let's go home, huh? We have a nice, comfy bed waiting for us," she purred. She couldn't see it but she could just tell he was grinning at that idea, just like she was. She subconsciously wrapped her arms around his waist as he let the motorcycle pick up speed.

"That sounds perfect."

---Unknown Amount of Time Later---

It wasn't that difficult to use her old PDA, dust covered and practically ruined from lack of use, to search up his mother's number. She noticed that the woman lived not too far away from where they did, which wasn't that unsurprising. It made sense to keep Secret Service agent's family close.

She sat on the couch, staring at the number like it was some foreign language (she actually didn't know) on the PDA screen instead of simple numbers. Old fear seemed to trickle through her veins, locking her in place and disabling her ability to move. She knew that all it took was a slight move of her thumb, a little pressure, and the little device would do the rest. It wouldn't take that much effort. And yet that fear was like lead. And lead filled veins were very difficult to move.

"Come on, you've fought monsters and countless murderers. Call her. It's easy," the voice assured from behind her. She was beginning to think he was basically acting as her conscious, trying to make her choose the right path. But that didn't make her feel any better about hearing things. She was still hearing things. And that still wasn't a good thing.

But his voice reassured her. And she moved her thumb, applied a little pressure, and heard the distant ringing sound spill out from the speaker. Technically, the PDA was more like an advanced walkie talkie than a phone and she didn't even have to hold it up to her ear to speak. She was glad because that way she didn't really have to do anything but speak.

"Hello?" a confused sounding voice asked. It sounded like the woman who'd visited, just confused. No doubt the woman had some kind of caller ID that showed her some odd (very odd) number. "Hello, who's there?"

"We never exchanged names…but….you met me about Leon," Ada tried, her voice coming out very softly. She could feel that fear rushing through her veins again and her heart thundered in her chest, pounding against her ribcage violently.

"Oh, right. I was…I was actually going to try and talk to you again, sometime," the woman replied. She sounded quite relieved, Ada noted. She supposed that neither of them had honestly wanted to be the one to step forward and call the other. They had lost the same loved one. But that was the only thing in common they had.

_Did we even have that in common? She loved him like she loved all of her family… I loved him and only him…_

"I um… I've just been dealing with things lately and Leon was…he was…pretty much the only person who ever helped and…well…" Ada laughed bitterly, realizing how easily she was stumbling over her words. Any of the people who'd once been her employers would've cringed at her sudden weakness. Then again, she had changed quite a bit since she'd started living with Leon.

"This isn't very easy, is it?" his mother laughed sadly. Ada chuckled softly as well, realizing that this wasn't any easier for the other woman either. It was obvious they were trying to talk and get to know each other but the question now was, who was going to be the one to take the most steps forward?

"No, not really… Would you…would you like to come over maybe? I have coffee…tea…all that good stuff. Leon made sure the selves kept all the necessities," Ada said softly, looking around her home. His little personal touches covered every square inch and she could imagine him standing here or there, a crooked smile on his lips and his eyes filled with humor.

"That…that sounds really nice. How about…in two hours? Long enough for me to get dressed and fix my hair," the woman said, her voice suddenly happy sounding. Ada felt a smile grave her own lips. Maybe talking to his mother wouldn't be so bad.

"That sounds perfect."


	13. Weird Thoughts and Odd Situation

Paradise Lost

A/N: This chapter might be confusing but…it should all make sense eventually. Don't know quite when though… And yes, the lack of proper…grammar/paragraph form was completely done on purpose. So, don't start bitching about them, okay? (In other words, I purposely made this chapter weird/hard to understand.) And yet…even though it was supposed to be a weird…bad…chapter…I hate it.

His first thought was, 'I must be in Hell.'

His second thought was, 'My arm's broken.'

His third thought was, 'Ada…'

The world seemed to groan and moan around him, all of them were unearthly sounds that seemed to come from all angles. The ceiling, which upon opening his eyes he'd discovered was much to close for his comfort, was covered in cracks that resembled the intricate design of a delicate spider web. With every groan that filled the air, the ceiling seemed to sink a little more, some foreign object putting more and more pressure on his already ruined left arm. And he knew it was ruined. His fingers were numb, like they weren't getting enough blood. No doubt the suddenly fragile bones in his arm were already cracked and broken, rendered useless by tons of concrete and metal crashing down on him.

His fourth thought was, 'Is that what happened? Did the building come down? …what building?'

His fifth thought was, 'The building…somebody planted…something…was wrong…'

His sixth thought was, 'I'd do anything to see her again…to see Ada…I needed to…to tell her… What? What did I need to tell her?'

He could smell smoke and dust in the air and his eyes, which stared up at the ceiling almost expectantly, watered bitterly from the acrid air. His lungs ached and begged him for fresh air, just a little bit. He could almost imagine the outside world only inches away from him. That seemed to be how things always were. So, without a second thought, he yanked his left arm closer to him and bit back a cry of pain. The chunk of debris that had rested on the limb easily fell away and the ceiling didn't come down, like he'd thought/expected it to, but his arm had already taken the damage. The two bones in his forearm, the radius and the ulna, were ruined. Blood rushed out of the cuts and tears in his flesh. But, with willpower he didn't quite understand, he pulled his left arm to his body and let it lay on his chest. He then used his right arm to push him off the ground and sit up. The ceiling wasn't as close as he thought. Apparently, his eyes were messed up. Or the smoke was screwing with him.

His seventh thought was, 'How do I know what the radius and the ulna are?

His eighth thought was, 'How the hell am I going to get out of here?'

His ninth thought was, 'God…whoever's up there…if anybody is…please let her be okay… Ada has to be okay.'

He managed to force himself into a low crouch, his left arm still cradled to his with more willpower by forcing his elbow to stay crooked. He moved with some unknown grace down the only open area that wasn't covered in debris. He wasn't quite certain how he could tell where this opening was-a draft had perhaps caught his attention-but he went down it anyway. Something bad had happened here. He'd been incredibly lucky, apparently. The building had crashed down all around him, not on top of him. If that wasn't luck, he didn't know what was. Then again, his mind wasn't completely cooperating at the moment. He was basically using instincts at the moment. He didn't even know where he was going. He didn't even know why he'd gotten up instead of just laying there. Then he swallowed, hoping for at least a tiny bit of saliva, but nothing came. His throat ached dully, not nearly as badly as his arm, but enough to make him hope for water. Suddenly, as he moved in his uncomfortable crouch, through something that was just big enough to be a crawlspace, he tried to think clearly. But no. He couldn't. All he could think about was…random things…and water. He really wanted some water. And food. Food would be nice. He shook his head bitterly. What was wrong with him?

His tenth thought was, 'I'm going to dehydrate down here…'

His eleventh thought was, 'How am I even alive? How long have I been down here?'

His twelfth thought was, 'Is she worried about me?'

His right hand hit the ground. Well, not really. His right hand hit the ground after entering a pool of water. It was quite shallow. Hardly enough to cover his hand. But it was enough for him. He was almost happy, water meant survival after all, but then he heard footsteps splashing nearby. Somebody was approaching and they were using the water to come over. He guessed that the water had burst through the ceiling at some point, causing a wider opening where somebody could actually walk through instead of stay in a low crouch, like he was. Now the new question was, are they friend or foe? But he didn't think he was going to get an answer for that. Because at that very moment, his body decided it wanted to randomly give out. His heart seemed to slow down and his felt himself fall backwards, onto his back. His boots slid into the pool of water, which made him realize it was much deeper the farther it went for the water continued down until about his knees. The liquid soaked his legs instantly, setting a nasty chill through his body.

His thirteenth thought was, 'I'm going to die down here….'

His fourteenth thought was, 'If they're going to kill me, I'm not going to get a chance to even fight…so…weak...'

His fifteenth thought was, 'Ada…I'm sorry.'

A flash of light appeared but he closed his eyes before the people could reach him. Whoever it was would have to accept dealing with a dead man. But then they called, in voices much too loud, that there was a 'live one over here!' He heard more footsteps splashing through the water but didn't open his eyes. They would have to take him dead…not alive… A hand, cold fingers and all, touched his neck and somebody shouted, "He's alive but barely!"

His final thought was, 'Ada, I love you.'


	14. Courageous Kid and Ghost Messages

Paradise Lost

A/N: I've been putting this update off for too long… (Can anybody tell I'm trying to get some updates done?) Anyway… This story…isn't going to last much longer. Maybe this chapter and one other and then it's done. (It's going to end quickly. Sorry…) And this chapter is freaking tiny. I'm sorry…

"Aw!" she said, picking up the fluffy Newfoundland puppy. Its black fur was as soft as the finest silk and its eyes were extremely intelligent. It licked at her face and seemed sad to find out it was unable to reach her since she was holding it away from her face, though its tail still wagged viciously.

"Did you just 'aw?'" he asked, looking at her in disbelief. She looked over at him, a smile finding its way onto her lips. "That's frightening. In fact, I think the apocalypse has just occurred. I think I'm going to die a horrible and painful death now. Thanks. Thanks a lot."

"Shut up. It's cute," she said, scratching the puppy behind the ears as she held it. The puppy grumbled happily in its throat, rubbing its head against her neck. He watched her, apparently fascinated with the scene before him. The humor had almost faded from his eyes, replaced by a rather serious look. She smiled at him again and he offered her a weakened smile. "Something wrong?"

"No," he said with another smile. But she could see something in his eyes. "Everything's fine. Just thinking." She cocked her head, asking him a silent question that had been asked many times before. The Newfoundland puppy was starting to drift off, its head slowly moving up and down as it tried to stop sleep from consuming it. "Nothing you want to hear."

"Try me, handsome," she purred pleasantly enough. She turned and set the puppy back down on its bed. They were at his friend's house, puppy-sitting for his friend. He'd agreed to the whole idea after he'd been given a week off from his own President's daughter-sitting.

She stayed in her crouched position next to the puppy, stroking his back. It was an adorable little thing, it ebony colored fur a stark contrast to her pale fingers as they ran through it. When he finally spoke, she didn't bother standing. It was obvious he was more comfortable speaking to her back. He was still shy, though he'd gotten better.

"It's stupid. Don't worry about it," he said finally, his boots thunking against the carpet as he walked away, probably to the leather couch. The house was quite nice and they'd already found themselves enjoying the big screen TV. His friend, a higher up in the government, had a nice fat paycheck, obviously.

"You say it's stupid. I say I want to hear. Who's going to win?" she asked, standing up and walking over to him. He hadn't sat down yet and looked down at her as she looked up, innocently, at him. "I just want to know," she whimpered, trying to pull off an innocent look. He rolled his eyes.

"I'm gullible but that doesn't work on me, sorry," he said. She shrugged and, almost like the humor had been sucked out of him, his humored look fell away and was replaced by a rather unsettled look.

"What's wrong?" He started to shake his head but she shook hers first. "Don't give me that. I know something's wrong. You're not good at hiding that, I'm afraid. Just tell me. I won't get upset. Have I ever?"

"No… I just….I… I don't know," he mumbled. And that's when she saw it. The same look he'd had years ago. It was like he was afraid he'd get rejected or something. But what could he ask her that he feared rejection for? Wait…

"Ask me," she said finally. There was something they'd both been avoiding, something that had to be asked. And he needed to ask it. After all, she'd only go through with it if he asked.

He stared at her, his pale eyes conflicted, before a small ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "Will you move in with me?"

"Most definitely."

---Unknown Amount of Time Later---

"He was a very courageous kid," Leon's mother, who'd said her name was Anne, said calmly as she held her coffee cup near her lips. "His father was always afraid he was going to get himself killed one day because of that courage." She took a drink from the mug and lowered it, looking around the room before looking at Ada.

"That sounds like the Leon I know, alright," Ada laughed softly. She could almost imagine that he was very brave. Stupidly brave. But brave. Because that was just how he was. That was how he always was.

"That courage always seemed to get the better of him though," Anne said suddenly, startling Ada with how depressed she sounded. "He'd do whatever he could to help people… That's why he joined the police. He wanted to protect people. …I never wanted him to be a cop. You know that, right?" Ada had guessed it but instead of saying no, she nodded. "I was just…always so afraid I was going to get that car in front of my house, that apology from the chief of Raccoon City or something…"

"He was a good cop," Ada said. And there it was. She was bringing up Raccoon City again. If he was there, he would've rested his hands on her shoulders and placed a little weight down, just to remind her he was there for her. "All he wanted to do was help… But… I know if Leon had continued on as a cop, instead of as a government agent, he would've been one of the best."

"No doubt," his mother agreed softly. They fell into a tranquil silence and Ada longed for him to be there. It just wasn't right without him there. If he was there, he would've cracked a joke, just to stop the silence. And she would've laughed and he would've smiled and his mother probably would've given her an incredulous look for laughing at his stupid jokes but she wouldn't care and neither would he. "Do you miss him?" his mother suddenly asked. Ada looked up and noticed that Anne was staring at her.

"All the time," Ada replied instantly. The older woman nodded sadly and wiped at her eyes, almost like that would stop tears from appearing. The Eurasian woman silently bowed her head. They fell into another silence until-

"You're name's Ada…my name's Anne. Leon shares his father's name. That's…odd." Ada gave her a curious look. Two A's and two L's. That was pretty odd. "Fate, maybe."

"I don't believe in Fate…" Ada said softly. Anne's eyes asked a silent question. "I probably would if it didn't keep screwing me over. And that's where I'll stop myself…" Anne obviously wanted to ask her more but didn't say anything out loud. Yet another silence, this one a little more awkward, floated around them. And then a soft sound filled the room, a gentle chiming.

Anne shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out a cell phone. She flicked it open and gently asked, "Hello?" There was a pause as the other person spoke. "I'm with a…a family friend." There was another pause. "Tell them to call Lee." Yet another pause, though Ada now realized that Leon didn't take after his father's nickname. "Who are they?" Another pause and Anne's face showed her obvious confusion. "Look Frank, just tell them…. No… I… I'm…" She stopped trying to talk and shot Ada an exasperated look. The younger woman smiled faintly. "I'll call them back."

The PDA suddenly started ringing and Ada nearly jumped out of her skin. She gave Anne an apologetic glance and the older woman just smiled, listening to the other person intently. Ada stood and walked over to the PDA, which sat on the counter near the sink. She picked it up and frowned. The number that was flashing, because of a message that had been sent to her phone, was eerily familiar. She didn't know where she recognized it from though.

"I can't come home right now, Frank." His mother was suddenly background noise, just something to hear while she busied herself with something else.

Ada opened the message and nearly dropped the PDA. Three simple letters, a code they'd developed through the years, appeared on the screen. Red. Her nickname. Followed by a question mark. Her fingers felt numb, her eyes burned with tears, her throat felt dry, and her heart thundered in her chest. Not possible. The number, it was _his_ PDA's number. The code, it was _his_ codename for her.

_Not possible, not possible, not possible._

The mantra ran through her head nonstop and Anne said something to her but Ada wasn't listening. (Not possible) He was…was he? (Can't be) But that was his number, their code. (Please be) She clicked the button that said 'reply' and quickly typed in "Blue?" in response.

Anne asked something and Ada, yet again, didn't reply. The response was quick (he'd always been faster at her with using PDAs to basically text message) and it read, "Care to come get me, Red?"

She quickly responded, "Of course." She shoved the PDA into her pocket and turned to face the, very confused, Anne. "I've got to go. You should go home. It's quite important."

"How do you-" Anne started. Ada interrupted her with a shake of her head, her hand snatching her car keys off the counter and her black hair falling into her face messily.

"I can't explain. I've got to go. It's… Your son's alive."


	15. Longtime Question and Accepted Secret

Paradise Lost

A/N: Last chapter everybody! Thanks for all the reviews. It's been a fun ride. Beware the clichéd ending! Beware!

"I just…I just really don't want you to go," she whispered, her arms wrapped around his neck protectively. They stood in front of the front door, the room around them dead silent. It was around twelve in the morning and he'd just received an odd call from his superiors. They wanted him to go on a mission to an abandoned building that has a shady background that they wanted him to check out.

He moved slightly, his arms moving and pulling her shirt with them. He looked down at her, his pale eyes soft and gentle. "I won't be gone for more than a few days. I'll be home before you know it. It's just an 'in-out' mission. What are you so worried about?"

She shook her head, wondering how she could explain the terrible feeling in her stomach. The worst sense of fear had washed over her as he spoke on the phone, his superiors telling him that all of the coordinates of the building would be sent to his PDA. Something about the whole thing, the mission and all, just made her uncomfortable.

"I don't know… Something is just wrong," she replied, her voice still in a soft whisper. His muscles were tense against her and she could almost imagine that her attitude was worrying him. Never before had she asked him, with a serious face, to stay home from a mission. And she never did because she knew just how dangerous it was. The government didn't forgive AWOL agents. Ever. "Please…stay home."

"I have to go," he said in response, his voice a low tone. Distantly, she thought that he sounded like he was basically just babying her. He sounded like a father who was trying to reassure his child that there wasn't a monster under the bed. But she could feel, almost sense, his discomfort. Her attitude and this mission was obviously bothering him too. Maybe not as much as it was her but it was bothering her.

"I know you do," she responded, her voice sounding flat in a way. His eyes showed his concern but she looked away. Her eyes started to tingle and she felt tears building up as well. His right hand suddenly lifted up and gently pressed against the bottom of her chin, making her look up at him. Something in her wanted to be angry but she couldn't be angry.

"I'm sorry… If I didn't have to go, I wouldn't. I really don't want to. I… But I have to. I'm so-"

Before he could continue, she kissed him. Her hands lowered to his belt, where her fingers wrapped around the strip of leather that held his pants up. As she squeezed the leather slightly, she wanted to believe that he was never going to step away from her again. But when his arms started to unwrap from around her waist and his hands rested on her hips, she knew what he was trying to say. It was his polite way of saying that he needed to go.

She broke the kiss and lowered her head. Her hands fell from his belt and his hands left her hips. They stood there, simply savoring the closeness to each other, before he took a step backwards and looked towards the door.

"I should be back in a few days, as I said. I love you." She started towards the door as he finished his sentence and he walked over as well. She opened the door for him and he stepped outside. She gave him a smile, a genuine smile, and he returned it. She noticed his wasn't as genuine as hers.

"I love you too, handsome. Now, come home as fast as possible. I'll be waiting."

---Unknown Amount of Time Later---

Her PDA had a GPS tracker built into it, so as soon as she'd sat down in her car, she'd searched for the location of the other PDA. It showed her the exact place that she expected it to come from, the 'secret' government hospital. She'd driven there immediately after, not even considering the speed limits around the city. Leon's mother had gone home, like she'd wanted her to.

The hospital looked like a giant warehouse, just a grey building with nothing amazing about it. But he'd told her that, on the off chance something happened, this was where Secret Service agents were taken if something happened to them. He'd said this way nobody asked questions about the Secret Service or anything like that. That and it had the most sophisticated medical technology known to mankind (for the president because who cares about Secret Service?). He'd shown it to her on one of their many nighttime motorcycle rides.

She now stood in front of the building, her old instincts of fleeing from her enemy kicking in quite powerfully. She wasn't shy, not really. She just didn't want to be surrounded by agents and doctors who wouldn't know her or trust her. But she had to go in there. _He _was in there. _He _had to be in there. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts of the 'what if he wasn't' scenario that silently threatened to bubble to life.

She leaned back against her car suddenly. She'd spent the time since his death telling herself that he was gone for good and that there was no way he was going to come back. And yet, here she was, trying to make herself go in the building to find him. And what if he wasn't in there? What if somebody had just cracked their code or something stupid like that? What if she'd just imagined the whole thing?

"Ada?"

That voice. She felt her throat constrict but she looked up. Standing in the shadows of the large building was a man she knew better than she knew herself. His left arm was in a sling, held close to his body, and he looked rugged and exhausted. A fine powdering of stubble coated his jaw line and his hair was disheveled and uncut. Tears clouded her vision and, with legs wobbling like they were made from rubber, she made her way over to him.

They didn't say anything, they didn't kiss, they didn't cry out loud. No, they stepped into a familiar embrace. Even though he could only wrap his right arm around her, it was all too familiar. And all too surreal. She'd been convincing herself that he was gone, that she was only foolishly hoping he was alive somehow. And yet here he was, holding her to him, her face pressed to his neck and her arms wrapped around his waist while his right arm held her around her waist and he rested his head against hers.

Silently they stood, holding each other as tightly as possible. She was making sure not to hurt his left arm but he didn't seem to scare if she was crushing it to his body. A slight quiver seemed to rush through his body while a weak sob escaped her throat. And just like that, the surrealistic feeling of the whole thing was gone. She had Leon back. And that was all that mattered.

"Leon…" she whispered against his throat, savoring his name and the way he felt all at once. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks and dotted his shirt with little droplets of water. Not too long ago, she'd spilt tears over his grave. Now, here she was, holding him and crying the ever cliché tears of joy. But she didn't care how clichéd it was. "Oh God, you're okay… You're alive… You're fine…" She softly continued on, finding different words for fine and alive while he just nodded his head. "I love you. I love you so much."

There. She said it. After years of wanting to say it, she said it. And he didn't tense up or pull away or seem uncomfortable. He laughed, a laugh of happiness and joy and everything good, and kissed her hair.

"God I've been waiting to hear that," he whispered. How she loved his voice, that rough and husky tone that had comforted her countless times during the night. She'd been wrong about her hallucinated version of him. His voice did not do the actual Leon's voice any justice. No, the actual Leon's voice was just…perfect. "I love you. God, all I wanted to say to you…"

He became silent, his words falling off into the void of unwanted conversations. And she didn't want to hear about what had happened. But she said to ask, "What… The government found you?"

"It wasn't a trap. Something just went wrong. When I went missing, they started searching. Wait… You…they gave me a funeral?" he asked, gently running his fingers up and down her spine. The gentle touch made her shiver in delight but she nodded her head in answer. "Guess they didn't think I'd survive."

"How long?" she questioned, pulling slightly away from him to look into their faces. They still stood in an embrace though. She just had to see that face. The one that had haunted her dreams and yet made them happy all at once. His pale eyes peered down at her, love burning like never before in the blue irises.

"About…a month I'd say. They found me and couldn't tell anybody out of…government standards," he replied, leaning his forehead to hers. They closed their eyes and she moved her hands. She rested them at the base of his throat before moving them up to his face, where her fingertips gently stroked his jaw line. She was unused to his usually smooth face suddenly having facial hair but she ignored it.

"You're coming home?" she asked, shivering slightly as his right hand found his under the hem of her T-shirt. He started to nod but instead leaned even closer to her and kissed her. He mouthed yes against her lips. When they broke apart, she said, "Good. I want you to ask me a question Leon. And then I'll tell you a secret."

He pulled away from her slightly, his arm still wrapped around her waist, and gave her a slightly confused look. The woman side of her felt hurt. But the common side of her knew he was confused because he'd just gotten out from underneath tons of rubble and was still probably slightly drugged up.

"It's an important question. One that I hope you've been meaning to ask me for a long, long time. Ask me, Leon." She looked at him, hoping her eyes spoke for her. Her left hand dropped from his face and she shoved it into her pocket. She carefully pulled out the velvet box that had been resting there all day but kept it out of his line of sight.

Recognition dawned in his eyes and she pressed the box to his side. He used his only working arm to take the box from her and looked at his less healthy arm. "This is going to be a bit difficult," he mumbled gently. She looked at him, almost ready to say he didn't have to but he did. He knelt in front of her and, with the most adorable face, asked, "Will you take it?"

She grinned and nodded. He stood up in one fluid motion and she hugged him again, burying her face into his neck. "Just had to be original didn't you?" she laughed, as she pulled away and took the box. Without both of his hands, she decided she could do some of the work at least.

He nodded at her in response to her question, a look of shock and joy mixing in his eyes, and she smiled again. It was all surreal again. They'd admitted how they felt and then they got engaged and now she had her secret to tell him. So, with the box still in her hands, she leaned into him. She rested her head against his chest and felt his arm warp around her. It would take a while to get used to one arm hugs. Luckily he probably didn't too much more time in the cast (stop procrastinating).

So, standing there in his arms she let the secret settle into her brain. It was the very reason she'd invited his mother over, to make herself accept it, and now she was actually okay with it standing in his arms. Finally, with a smile, she breathed, "I'm pregnant."


End file.
